Epilogue

And so it happened that after months--years, really--of playing Schrodinger's Bank Statement, I finally gave in and opened that envelope. Turns out that the cat was dead all along. Thus it is with heavy hat in hand and no brass in pocket, I find that I must (once again) turn my back to the burning wreckage of my endeavors and slink out of Dodge.

They say that most successful entrepreneurs have failed many times during their career but what they don't tell you is that most abject failures have had some modicum of success early on and then foolishly expected it to continue. Either way, let us learn from our failures so that we may not have defaulted in vain.

What then have I learned?

• Government is not your friend and bureaucracy is its bludgeon.
• Most people suck.
• It's not what you know but who you know and (preferably) have some dirt on that you can use to your advantage, hindering their earnest desire to crush you and salt your grave.
• If you absolutely insist on failing, fail fast and get it over with. 

Hmm, I knew all that already so it looks like I didn't learn anything at all. Figures. So what's next, you ask and so do I, which means none of us have a clue. First, it looks like I'm heading stateside, dog in tow (in IATA approved crate, actually), then who knows? Back to NZ perhaps, where life is sweet and everyone owns a boat. I could live with that. It's just the way I float.

Whatever. Let us raise a glass to what might have been:

Before I go softly into that dark night, I leave you with this. While I was aggressively culling the flotsam of my life in anticipation of imminent departure, I found a letter that I'd saved for decades. Apparently, although I actually don't recall doing so, I had written to a RISD lady-friend during summer break, undoubtedly to describe my summer job in brooding, turgid prose, but she so gloriously outdid me with her languid reply (lovingly transcribed below [names changed to protect the long forgotten]) that I still laugh rereading it today.  Truth is, I think I kept it all these years b/c her insouciant wry humor so resonates with my own (yes, I actually wrote "resonates" and no, I won't apologize) and I realized, alas, too late in the day to make hay, that she was in fact my soulmate and we had passed like ill-fated ships in the dark night of the soul. Unfortunately, I find it impossible to recall even the slightest detail of her, and that, my friends, is what is meant by the word "sad".

N.B.: By strange and wondrous coincidence (the stuff of which my wretched life is made) I, myself had three of my own teeth extracted not 24 hours before rediscovering this lost dispatch. Karma.

Dear D--,
Your letter finds me in a somewhat ambivalent state — the suburbs have lost what little charm they once held for me. Long Island. is, in reality, a tangled mass of highways, byways, parkways, thruways, and let us not forget— expressways. It is the land of the Golden Arches, a virtual Eden of car washes, shopping malls and parking lots that stretches as far a the eye can see. It is tacky incarnate, but-- it is still my beloved L.I. of the white sandy beaches and the Atlantic surf. If only the populace would pack up and move to Peoria…

Days are spent at poolside where I do daily battle with the Times crossword puzzle, pausing now and again to listen to the spirited song of the katy-did or to watch as a caterpillar leaps to his untimely demise from the arm of a chaise lounge (actual event). This unhurried life I describe is due, in part, to the familiar straits I find myself in, i.e.: the still waters of unemployment. Although a zealous job seeker was I, my early efforts at obtaining gainful employment were nipped in the proverbial bud by a rebellious wisdom tooth expressing the desire to secede from my mouth, and as all insurrectionists are apt to do, incited three others, the upper right, lower right and lower left, to join in this mutinous act. I emerged the sole casualty and was made to endure several weeks (meaning more than 2, less than 5) of the worst pain, soft foods and the dreaded rinsing ea. hr. with warm-salt-water (not a brand name). But, as surely as the marigolds grow in my garden, I am once again in the bloom of good health. And, as I sit here contemplating the cloud formations of a 3:00 sky, I consider the virtues (of which there is but one — $ ) of venturing into the job market at this late date in the season. Consider yourself fortunate to be young, employed and living in the Garden State. I have gathered from late nite (night) T.V. (television) that there is much for the modern, mobile New Jersey youth to occupy his idle hours with—not the least of which is the famed Haunted Mansion of Long Branch, N.J. Word has it they maintain a “living headless woman” there. Say it isn’t so!, or I shan’t have another good night’s sleep.

As it is I sleep but little, preferring night to day, and stay up far into the early hours pursuing things artistic and catching an occasional sermonette. (in truth, I accomplish a great deal in the hours after midnight when there are fewer diversions…) Many a time I have watched, silently, as the black abyss of night shone forth golden in the east, and only then did I cease my aesthetic pursuits and sleep ‘till just short of noon.

I manage an occasional jaunt into Manhattan — for Fourth of July fireworks on the Hudson or, as it happens, the Picasso show-- where I happened into C-- and her delegation from the Printmaking Dept. We had a brief but meaningful exchange and then parted company. Later that day, while strolling in the sculpture garden, I was accosted by a half-crazed bohemian exclaiming “Your face — it’s just like one of those paintings by Françoise Gillot!”

I would like to take this time to apologize for my p̶o̶u̶r̶r poor t̶y̶e̶ typing, but I thought I would spare you my hand, which is, at best, illegible.

Aside from my urban adventures I play tennis and miniature golf intermittently. ( We tee off at “Putter’s World” where Tom, the entrepreneur, a dapper college junior, for no apparent reason allows us to play for half price). I swim daily in my family pool, equipped with diving board, slide and solar temperature control. My paternal parent recently surprised the family with a floating recliner, the S.S. Lounge Chair, which affords me endless hours of enjoyment, piloting over the bounding waves and other such nautical tom-foolery. You may perceive my life to be a bowl of chlorinated water, but caveat swimmer —the skimmers are full of spiders and toads and other nasty things. There is meaning in that statement, although well hidden.

My neighbors to the right have recently installed a large electronic device whose sole purpose is to attract and electrocute flying insects. It has a 100% success rate and zaps an unsuspecting fly, wasp or mosquito every 5 seconds on average. This contraption has become the bane of my existence. The din is unbearable; it interferes with my thoughts and transforms a seemingly simple suburban lawn into a death camp for airborne insects. 

Alas, I have written far more than I had intended (through an inherited trait for rambling and run-on sentences) and hereby call an end to this aimless (but not pointless) epistle. Write again if you are so inclined, it’s been decades since I’ve had a pen-pal.

Adieu—
Your friend on L.I.
M--

And likewise, I bid adieu to yeu and yeu and yeu. Yeu have the keys to the place so play nice among yeurselves and don't forget to turn out the lights when yeu're through. Peace be upon yeu, playas, as yeu wander up and down this grand and planar Earth.